The next morning, sunlight streamed through the cracks in my curtains, harsh and unwelcome. My phone buzzed on the nightstand before I had even fully opened my eyes.

Adrian: I’ll pick you up today.

I stared at the message, my fingers hovering over the screen, unsure of how to respond. Every instinct screamed at me to say no, to push back, to refuse. But I knew what would happen if I did. Adrian didn’t handle rejection well. He would find a way to make me feel guilty, to turn my resistance into a problem I created.

Finally, I typed out something simple.

Okay.

It was easier that way. Easier to go along with it, to avoid the fight. At least for now.

At breakfast, the house was unusually quiet. Ethan and Maxim were already gone for the day, and Lorenzo was still in his room. Elijah sat at the kitchen table, his eyes glued to his phone, scrolling through something as he absentmindedly chewed on a piece of toast. I moved around the kitchen in silence, trying to make myself as invisible as possible, hoping to slip out unnoticed.

“You’re up early,” Elijah said suddenly, his voice breaking through the silence. He didn’t look up from his phone, but I could feel his attention shift to me.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, pouring myself a cup of coffee even though my stomach was in knots. “Just woke up early.”

He glanced up briefly, his brow furrowed. “You heading somewhere? You don’t usually leave this early.”

I tensed, trying to come up with an excuse. “I’m meeting someone before school.”

Elijah raised an eyebrow, setting his phone down and leaning back in his chair. “Who?”

I froze, my pulse quickening. I hadn’t thought this through. “Just… a friend.”

“A friend, huh?” Elijah said, his tone light but with a hint of suspicion creeping in. “Adrian?”

My heart dropped. There it was. He knew. Or at least, he suspected. My mind raced for a response, something to deflect, something to keep him from pushing any further.

“Yeah,” I admitted softly, hoping that by not denying it, he’d let it go. “We’re just hanging out before class.”

Elijah’s gaze lingered on me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately.”

I shrugged, trying to play it off as casually as possible. “We’re just friends.”

He didn’t respond immediately, just continued watching me with that same skeptical look, like he was trying to figure out if there was more I wasn’t telling him. “You sure about that?” he asked after a long pause.

My throat tightened, and I forced a smile. “Yeah. It’s nothing serious.”

Elijah didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he just nodded slowly, picking up his phone again. “Alright. But if something’s bothering you… you can talk to me. You know that, right?”

“I know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Thanks.”

Without another word, I grabbed my bag and slipped out the door, the tension following me like a shadow.

---

Adrian was already waiting when I got to the corner near our house, his car idling by the curb. I hesitated for a moment, standing on the sidewalk, staring at the car as a wave of dread washed over me. Every step toward him felt heavier than the last, like I was walking deeper into a trap I couldn’t escape from.

I climbed into the passenger seat, closing the door behind me. Adrian didn’t say anything right away, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he pulled away from the curb.

“You didn’t text me back last night,” he said after a long silence, his voice calm but with that familiar edge underneath.

“I fell asleep early,” I lied, my hands gripping the straps of my bag tightly.

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. “You’ve been distant lately.”

“I’m just tired,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s been a long week.”

Adrian didn’t respond, but the silence that followed was suffocating. I could feel the tension between us building, like a storm gathering just beneath the surface. He didn’t have to say anything for me to know he was upset. I had learned to read his moods, to sense the shifts in his demeanor before they turned into something worse.

We pulled into the school parking lot, and Adrian parked the car, his hand resting on the steering wheel as he turned to face me. His gaze was intense, his eyes dark and searching.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly, his voice soft but firm, the kind of tone that made it clear he expected an answer.

I swallowed hard, nodding quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He stared at me for a moment longer, then leaned over, his hand gently brushing my cheek as he cupped my face. “You can tell me if something’s wrong,” he whispered, his voice low, intimate. “I’m here for you. I don’t want you shutting me out.”

My skin prickled under his touch, the words he spoke sounding more like a warning than a reassurance. I forced a smile, even though my stomach churned. “I know. I’m not.”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing my forehead in a soft kiss. “Good,” he murmured, his hand lingering on my cheek for a moment before he pulled away.

The silence between Adrian and me as we walked into the school was thick, almost unbearable. Every step felt heavier, like I was dragging myself through an invisible weight. My stomach twisted with a familiar ache—anxiety bubbling just beneath the surface, but also something darker, something that had been growing for a while now.

Depression wasn’t new. It had been with me for months, maybe even longer. But lately, it was suffocating, pulling me under. It felt like there was no escape. No matter how much I tried to keep it at bay, it was always there, lurking behind every interaction, every forced smile. It was the reason everything felt gray when it should’ve been bright.

 I was drowning, and no one could see it.

As we entered the hallway, the sound of students talking, laughing, shoving past each other, all blurred into a background hum. I felt disconnected, like I wasn’t really there. I barely noticed when Adrian walked ahead, distracted by someone calling his name. I took the opportunity to slip away, retreating into one of the empty restrooms down the hall.

As I walked towards the restroom, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out quickly, checking the screen.

Elijah: Everything okay?

My heart sank as I read the message. Elijah was still suspicious, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he started asking more questions.

I could feel the walls closing in ans as soon as I was alone, I felt the panic again.

My chest tightened, and my breath came in shallow gasps, the walls of the restroom seeming to close in around me. The panic surged without warning, the familiar, suffocating sensation of being completely out of control. I gripped the edge of the sink, trying to steady myself, but it was no use.

My vision blurred, and my heart raced, pounding in my chest like it might burst. I couldn’t breathe—each inhale felt thin and desperate, as though no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get enough air. My throat tightened, and a cold sweat broke out across my skin.

I fumbled for my phone, fingers trembling, but my vision swam, and I dropped it onto the floor with a clatter. A sob tore through me, but no sound came out. It was like I was choking on the panic, like it had taken hold of my lungs, squeezing, crushing.

I’m falling apart. That was the only thought that cut through the chaos in my head. I’m losing it.

I stumbled back from the sink, pressing my back against the cold tiles of the restroom wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. The pressure in my chest was unbearable, like a weight pressing down, crushing me. I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to ground myself, trying to find something—anything—to stop the panic from swallowing me whole.

But nothing worked.

I rocked back and forth, my body trembling violently as I tried to breathe, tried to push the fear away. It was no use. I was trapped in my own head, trapped in this body that felt like it was breaking apart.

I couldn’t stop it.

And in that moment, I knew what I needed to do. The thought came quickly, an impulse that had become all too familiar lately. The urge to hurt myself, to make the internal pain external, to release it in a way I could control.

I stood shakily, my legs barely holding me up, and opened my bag, fumbling for the small blade I had hidden away. My hands were shaking so badly that it took me a few tries to even hold it steady, but once I had it, I felt a strange sense of calm.

With trembling hands, I pressed the blade to my arm, just above my wrist, and pulled. The sting was sharp, immediate, but with it came relief. The panic dulled slightly, the chaos in my mind quieting as the pain bled through. I breathed out slowly, watching as the blood welled up, tiny droplets sliding down my skin.

It wasn’t much, just a shallow cut, but it was enough. Enough to make the suffocating panic retreat, enough to ground me again in the present. I could breathe again. I could feel again.

I wiped the blade on a tissue and stashed it back in my bag before carefully rinsing my arm under the faucet, watching the water swirl red before disappearing down the drain. The physical pain was sharp, clear. But it was better than the fog, better than the way my mind had felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

I wrapped my arm in a paper towel, tucking it under my sleeve. The panic attack was gone, but the exhaustion it left behind was overwhelming. I leaned against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I looked pale, my eyes hollow and dark, like a stranger staring back at me.

I didn’t feel like myself anymore. I didn’t even know who I was anymore.

My phone buzzed from the floor, and I bent down slowly, picking it up.

Adrian: Where are you? I’m waiting.

The panic surged again, but this time, it wasn’t as strong. I typed out a quick response.

Coming.

---

I left the restroom and headed toward where Adrian was waiting, my heart heavy in my chest. The dull ache in my arm throbbed beneath my sleeve, but I welcomed it. It kept me focused, kept me moving.

Adrian was standing by the entrance, his eyes darting around as he waited. When he saw me approaching, his expression immediately darkened. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tightening as I walked toward him. I could see the flicker of irritation behind his eyes, but he didn’t say anything at first. He just watched me closely, his gaze intense and unnerving.

“You’re late,” he said finally, his voice cold, sharp.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, keeping my head down. “I got caught up.”

Adrian didn’t respond right away. Instead, he grabbed my arm—not the one I had cut, thankfully—but his grip was hard, too hard. His fingers dug into my skin, and I winced, trying to pull away, but he held firm.

“You’re always making excuses,” he hissed, his voice low but dangerous. His eyes were locked on mine, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You think you can just disappear whenever you want? Ignore me? I don’t think so.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I just needed a minute.”

He didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened. The pain in my arm intensified. I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out, knowing that any reaction would only make it worse.

“A minute?” he sneered, leaning closer. “You needed a minute? You’re not getting away with that anymore. I’m tired of you shutting me out.”

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, panic rising again, but this time it wasn’t just from anxiety—it was from the fear of what he might do. His grip on my arm was brutal, his fingers digging into my skin like claws. I struggled to breathe, my throat tight with fear, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen, trapped under his control.

“Adrian, please,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “You’re hurting me.”

He didn’t loosen his grip, didn’t flinch. His eyes remained cold and unfeeling as he watched me squirm under his grasp. It wasn’t about control anymore—it was about power. He wanted me to know exactly how much power he held over me.

“You need to start being honest with me,” he growled, pulling me even closer, his breath hot against my ear. “I’ve been there for you, and I deserve better than this.”

I swallowed hard, trying to blink back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “I know,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’m sorry.”

Adrian studied me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if he were searching for any sign of a lie. Then, slowly, he released my arm, though the tension in his body didn’t ease.

“Good,” he muttered, stepping back slightly. “We’re going to talk about this later. But right now, let’s go. You’re coming with me.”

I rubbed my arm, the skin already tender and sore from where his fingers had been. The dull ache from the cut on my other arm mingled with the fresh bruising on this one, but I kept silent. I knew better than to say anything.

We started walking toward his car, the silence between us heavy with unspoken anger. My mind was racing, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but it was like I was stuck in a fog. The depression that had been weighing me down for so long felt heavier than ever now, mixed with the physical pain and fear that Adrian’s anger had ignited.

When we reached the car, Adrian opened the passenger door, waiting for me to climb in. I hesitated for a second, the urge to run flooding my senses, but I knew there was nowhere to go. I was trapped.

Adrian’s patience snapped. He grabbed me by the wrist again, yanking me roughly toward the car. The force of it made me stumble, my shoulder slamming into the door frame as he shoved me inside. The pain shot through me, sharp and sudden, but I bit down hard on my lip, forcing myself not to cry out.

“Get in,” he snapped, slamming the door behind me.

I stared out the window, my body trembling as I tried to keep my breathing steady. I felt like I was breaking apart, the panic clawing at my insides, the pain throbbing in my arm and shoulder. I could feel Adrian’s eyes on me as he walked around the car and slid into the driver’s seat, but I didn’t dare look at him.

 I wasn’t even sure where he was taking me. I hadn’t asked, and he hadn’t offered to explain. He didn’t need to. Wherever we were going, I knew it wasn’t because he wanted to talk or make things right.

“Where are we going?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ll see,” Adrian replied coldly, keeping his eyes on the road. His hand gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. “We need to have a conversation without all your excuses.”

I nodded, too afraid to push further. The silence in the car was suffocating, the tension so thick I could barely think. My mind raced, the events of the past hour spinning in my head—his grip on my arm, the way he had shoved me into the car, the fear that had knotted in my chest.

As we drove, Adrian’s hand suddenly shot out, grabbing my chin roughly and forcing me to look at him. “You’re lucky I care about you,” he said, his voice cold and controlled. “Most people wouldn’t put up with this.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I just kept my eyes fixed on him, my fingers trembling as I clutched my bag tightly in my lap. The pain in my arm was still fresh, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. He had wrapped me so tightly in his control, made me believe that no one else would ever care, that I was lucky to have him—even though he was hurting me.

And maybe I believed him.

Adrian let go of my chin, his eyes hard as he focused back on the road. “Don’t forget,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I’m the only one who’s always here for you.”

I stared down at my hands, the trembling never stopping. The bruise on my arm pulsed, a reminder of his grip. My throat tightened as I fought back the tears threatening to spill.

Wherever he was taking me, I knew this wasn’t going to end well.